


And it feels like I know where I'm going

by SugarsweetRomantic



Series: Dear, come with me [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Bridget still goes to the beach.A sequel to «Let us dance, my darling»





	And it feels like I know where I'm going

Omarm mijn lijf en leden  
_ Embrace my body and limbs _

Omarm mijn waanideeën  
_ Embrace my delusions _

Omarm me, omarm me  
_ Embrace me, embrace me _

_ ~ Bløf - Omarm _

 

~x~

 

The weather was calm on a late Sunday morning in Melbourne. Bridget smiled as she watched a family with two young kids fly a kite. The youngest was squealing at the sight of the bright colours in the sky. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her: “That could have been you.” A small body making an emergency landing in her lap pulled her out of her thoughts. Chuckling softly, she opened her arms.

“Hey Liv,” she greeted the girl leaning against her. “Are you having fun?” Olivia nodded vigorously. 

“Yeah, Tess pushed me on the swing and I went as high as the trees!” The teenager in question approached the small group of people sitting on the benches near the playground by the church.

“Hey kiddo,” Alan Doyle greeted his daughter. Tess plopped down onto one of the free seats and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She had apparently decided she had socialised enough today, as far as her dad and his friends went. Alan suppressed a chuckle and turned towards the two women to his side. Olivia had moved to sit in between Bridget and her mum. 

“Bridget, are you sure you don’t want Vera or me to come with you tonight?” He laid a hand on the psychologist’s knee, who shook her head.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Vera had a look of compassion on her face. Even though Bridget had left Wentworth a long time ago, the women were still close friends. The blonde smiled softly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

 

That evening, Bridget began preparing her yearly tradition. She took a long shower, taking her time afterwards to moisturise. Her outfit had been ready ever since she got it back from the dry cleaner’s two weeks ago: a cream-coloured silk top, black slacks and her old cobalt blue jacket. It was the same every year. She pulled her hair into a low ponytail. That was the only thing that had changed - her once golden-blonde hair was now a gentle grey. She hadn’t dyed it in years; she didn’t really see the point. Who was she doing it for, anyway? Herself? She could barely look at herself in a mirror. She sure as hell wasn’t doing it for others either. Some light makeup completed the look. She was ready. For the tenth time, she was ready.

 

The moon shone brightly over the dark land as Bridget walked up to the breakers. The sea was calm, and she watched as a flock of birds landed on the sand a couple of dozen of metres away from her. Déjà vu. The only thing missing this time was the woman waiting for her. That woman had been missing for ten long years, and yet she refused to let it go. To let her go. The psychologist in her knew that this was not a healthy way of coping, but returning here every year kept Franky Doyle alive in her mind, in her heart. Any rational human being knew the chances of Franky still being among the living were slim, if not non-existent, but Bridget refused to accept that. What they had had had been so real, so pure. It had just been so right. 

 

But it was gone.

 

Kicking off her shoes, Bridget picked them up and took a few steps into the water, the ballet flats dangling from her index and middle fingers. The waves washed over the skin of her feet like a cool blanket; it was calming in a way. It soothed her body while her soul cried in anguish over what could have been. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She inwardly cursed it. She was okay. She was fucking okay.

 

Except she wasn’t.

 

She let her feet drag through the water as she continued along the shoreline until she reached the spot. Their spot. Sighing, she bent down to draw in the sand: their two initials connected by a heart, as always. However, as she looked more closely, she nearly lost her balance.

 

Someone had already drawn them for her.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

~x~

 

Zeg dat ik gek was  
_ Say that I was crazy _

Durf te zeggen dat ik droomde  
_ Dare say that I was dreaming _

Zeg dat ik dom was   
_ Say I was dumb _

Maar dromen deed ik niet  
_ But I wasn’t dreaming _

_ ~ Bløf - Dansen aan Zee _

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't live with the sad ending that «Let us dance, my darling» had!


End file.
